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"Have I ever told you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen?" |
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In the act of pulling the bedcurtains shut, Alinor turned. "No, you have not," she replied tartly, "and it is just as well, because it would have given me grave doubts as to your truthfulness. Beautiful I may be, but I am no match for Queen Isabella and a goodly number of others." |
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Ian laughed and shook his head. "There are other things than perfection of feature that make beauty. Perhaps if you were both statues, Isabella would be lovelier, but I care little for statues. Come back to bed." |
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He laughed again at the conflict in her facepleasure at the demand, a ready kindling of desire, concern for the lateness of the hour and the many tasks waiting. "I am sorry to disappoint you," he continued, "but I have no ardent intentions. Well, I do have, but I must needs master them. I have a good deal to tell you, and I do not know where else or when else we may be private." |
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"Ireland?" Alinor asked apprehensively, drawing on her bedrobe and returning to sit beside her husband. |
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"Yes, but not for me as yet. That can wait. The first thing is whether Adam knows his part in today's ceremony." |
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"Yes, of course. I have been over it with him often enough, and his armor and sword are ready. God forbid some devil will enter him and make him misbehave, but I do not think it. He is delighted with his own importance." |
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